16A/N: Dang, it's been a while, hasn't it? I am so sorry, guys. This past year has just been a bowl of butts, and I admit having real difficulty finding the time (let alone the inspiration) to write.
BUT, you can thank lovely fanfic writer, A Hidden Path, for this update, because she's been cheering me on and pep-talking me about writing, and I don't think this chapter would have reached fruition without her.
Obviously, I have my insecurities about this chapter and things I wish I had more time to do right, but hey… you are never 100% ready for anything, really, right? So, what the hell. Here's an update!
Please enjoy, and let me know what you think!
xXx
Chapter Three
xXx
Kari lay awake, thoughts ablaze and blinking like Macau's Cotai Strip at night—not that she'd ever been. She turned on her side, getting a view of Yolei sleeping on her side of the room, lavender hair pooling like water beneath her head. How was it so easy for Yolei to make decisions that were critical nightmares for her? Yolei's choices had been so quick, so certain.
"Of course I'd reach out to him. Of course I'd ask to meet him for coffee if he didn't ask first. Of course I'd be flattered."
Of course, of course, of course, Kari mentally parroted. As if it were common sense, as if only the blind would be, well, blind to the courses of action. If that were the case, she had a severe case of nuclear sclerotic cataracts.
Sighing, Kari bent over the edge of her bed, digging a hand under her mattress until she found the product of her search. With a grunt, she yanked it out, careful not to crumple its pages. She reached for the phone on her nightstand and, bringing it close to her shoulder, used the glare of its screen to read the small print on the paper in her hands. Amber eyes scanned the columns of text.
"Talented and beautiful. Talented and beautiful. Talented... and... beautiful."
She read the words three times in a row with the hopes that, by the third time, they'd churn in her gut the feelings of glee and giggles seemingly appropriate for girls publicly flattered by boys. But the sensation never came. No rush of blush to her cheeks, no surge of heartburn, no tumultuous mixing in her stomach.
Stop it, she chided herself.
With another sigh, she tucked the periodical away, back in its space under her mattress. She shut off her phone, and, after a moment to listen to her own breathing, closed her eyes and fell asleep.
xXx
As midnight fell, TK felt like Cinderella—meaning he could sense all his good luck vaporizing, his genius poofed into a paperweight pumpkin.
"Ken, I need an idea."
He spoke in the dark from the comfort of his bed, snuggly dressed in his flannel pajamas. His words were addressed to the ceiling. His roommate, too, was already in bed on his half of their shared room, blindfold over his steely blue eyes.
But TK knew Ken was not asleep. The essential oil diffuser on his nightstand quietly puffed the smell of citrus into their room. When the machine quieted, then Ken would be asleep.
"I'm sorry, you've come to the wrong shop," answered Ken after a long silence.
TK spun around.
"Ken, my man, I'd help you if you were in my position."
His roommate continued to lay perfectly still on his back, arms folded over his chest, chin pointed regally, like King Tut being laid in his sarcophagus—not that he was dead, though when he slumbered, TK marveled at the phenomenon that Ken barely moved in his sleep. Did he enter a cryogenic state or what?
"I would never be in your position, TK."
TK whined and flipped onto his stomach, grumbling into his pillow.
"Point," came his muffled acknowledgement.
Still, TK was not discouraged. While he feigned disappointment and desperation, he gladly waited out the silence that followed. In the quiet, guilt and conscience would sneak in. Ken's general kindness would begin to shine, his amygdala glowing in all its altruistic regions.
His roommate sighed.
"From where I stand," he began, and TK lifted face from pillow, already smiling, "you need to appease both parties. You want to keep your article as is but you also don't want to get fired as a staff writer."
"I get that much," TK retorted, deliberately ungrateful. "But how?"
Ken lifted his blindfold, peeking one eye over at him.
"Catherine needs to get something out of your proposed solution. Preferably not just a verified readership."
"What more could she ask for?" TK questioned, disliking the suggestion despite having no other options. "The blood of virgins?"
The blindfold lifted higher, revealing a pair of blue eyes glaring at him in the dark. Needless to say, he and his roommate shared very different types of humor.
"Sometimes I wonder why I allow you to rope me into your schemes."
"Call it magic, Ken. I'm mag—" He stopped, popping up from bed like a jack in the box unleashed. "I've got it!" he shouted.
A pounding on the wall from their fellow suitemates interrupted his Eureka moment.
"Shut." Thwack. "Up!"
TK stared at the assaulted wall in bemusement, the order never quite puncturing his brain, which was lit like the sun. Ken summed up the request less succinctly, but with more tact.
"Go to sleep, TK," he said, drawing the blindfold back over his eyes.
"Pfft. No rest for the wicked, Ken, my man," he said, throwing his covers aside. He jumped into his desk chair, swiveling around a few cycles while his laptop awakened. Once lit, he resumed his mission and opened a new email.
Seven minutes late, he typed.
But please indulge. Idea found. Let's discuss. Tomorrow—I mean today.
–TK
Having sent his missive, he crawled back into bed and sighed contentedly under the covers.
xXx
Kari stood by the black chain-link fence of the soccer pitch. Her hand's edge rested against her forehead, palm parallel to the grass, doing its best to shield her eyes from the glare of a mid-Autumn sun. A cool breeze carried with it the murmur of the soccer team as they closed another practice, chuckles as jokes were exchanged, denials or affirmations spoken in baritone.
As the boys scattered, doffing shirts or guzzling water, Kari waved, once, at her older brother. He returned her greeting, slipping the captain's armband off a bicep as he hailed her with his water bottle. She smiled, and he turned away, her real reason for idling by the pitch coming into focus as she squinted past her brother's wild brown hair. After a blink, her friend's tanned figure was jogging over to her, naked from the waist up, swarthy skin in a glistening sweat—the smell of which hit her like a boxer's uppercut as he approached.
"Hey, Kari!" he greeted. He raised an arm. Despite being half-blinded by the sun, Kari could still plainly see the swatch of armpit hair revealed in the welcoming gesture. She braced herself and stepped further to the left, keeping her distance just wide enough that when his arm lowered, his hand landed on her shoulder instead of his elbow (and greasy armpit) hooking around her neck. She was proud (if not protective) of her dainty constitution.
"Aw, I don't smell that bad, do I?"
Kari smirked, patting the hand on her shoulder before plucking it off her person.
"Bad enough, Davis," she replied. "It's expected, though."
He laughed.
"Right. It'd be weirder if I didn't smell." He sniffed. "What's up?"
He asked the question over his shoulder, away from her. To anyone else, the gesture would have appeared rude, but Kari's stare had been trained to be just as sensitive to her older brother's hawk-like vigilance. Davis's crush on her was old news, and she considered him now an indispensable compatriot in the world of college, but sure enough, her brother watched them from a distance, eyebrow raised in suspicion average enough to ignore.
Davis, in good humor, waved at him.
"Can I help you, Capitán?" he shouted, to which his response was a well-intentioned flip of a middle digit.
Kari frowned lightly and dropped her bookbag on the ground, yanking open its zipper.
Boys.
"Anyway," Davis resumed, looking back at her. "What's going on?"
"Here." Kari handed him a clean T-shirt. "Let's go for a walk?"
Less fragrant, and out of the perimeter of her overprotective sibling, Kari felt free to speak plainly—or as plainly as her inhibited nature allowed.
"Did you read this week's campus newspaper?" she asked. Their footsteps crunched lightly atop the first dusting of dead leaves, splashes of yellow, orange, and red that offered speckles of bold contrast against the cold, impenetrable blue of the sky. Every few seconds, Kari would toggle her gaze from the ground to the heavens, distracted by the depths of color.
"No," said Davis. "Unless I was on the cover of the Sports section. Was I?"
"No."
"Damn."
Kari sighed. She should have expected as much, but curse her for hoping for a speck of intellectuality from Davis. Still, for all his shortcomings academically, her friend boasted an alarmingly high emotional intelligence, which explained how easily he caught on to the purpose of their chat.
"Why?" he asked.
"It's best if you just read it."
She shifted her backpack to one shoulder and brought it forward, opening the main compartment and pulling out the news article. She handed it to him and sat on a nearby bench while Davis paced and read. It usually took him a while to cool down from soccer practices—hence the restlessness.
"Dude." He giggled. "Is this guy asking for a death wish?"
He was speaking from experience.
"Exactly what I said," Kari replied, "but Yolei thinks it's cute."
Davis looked up from the paper, lightly rolling his eyes.
"Yolei thinks everything is cute."
"Well, not you."
"Ouch."
He handed the paper back to her amid her chuckling, and she stowed it back in her bookbag. Davis took the seat beside her on the bench.
"He has a pair, for sure," he remarked, rubbing his chin. "Tai doesn't know?"
"No." Her eyes narrowed when they met his, and her stare steeled with each word that followed. "And he won't."
Davis raised his hands.
"Hey, now," he began, grinning, "I liked your brother as much as I liked you, Kari—maybe even a little more—but your secret is safe with me." For good measure, he bumped a fist into her bony shoulder. "I got you."
"Thanks," she murmured, unconvinced. Part of her already regretted her lack of faith in Davis, but his affection for both her and her brother could be debilitating given his people-pleasing nature—particularly toward people he liked or wanted to impress. All Tai had to do to get him to confess was utter his name and a greeting: "Hey, Motomiya! What's good?"
She glimpsed at him. The tips of his spiky, burgundy hair glowed against the light of the sun, reminding her of burning paper. He smiled wanly and tipped his head.
"So… what are you going to do about it? Have you contacted the guy—what's his face—" He looked around for the paper, forgetting he had returned it a minute ago. Without the primary source, he took a wild guess. "TW?"
"No," Kari said, and she didn't bother to correct him with the right name. "I don't know if I should. I thought you could help me decide. What would you do if someone wrote something like that about you?"
"Uhh..." Davis blinked at her, slices of his brown eyes amber-clear in the sunlight. "Well, it's kind of obvious, Kari, isn't it? You get in touch. You get laid."
Oh, brother.
She fist-bumped his shoulder back.
"Be serious."
"I am! Hey, if a guy likes me, I'm going to pursue it. And this guy isn't half bad, either, to be honest." Kari piqued an eyebrow. Davis couldn't remember her admirer's name, but he very distinctly remembered what he looked like from the author's headshot included in the paper's front pages. Before she realized what she was doing, she looked him up and down, assessing his priorities. Davis, oblivious, went on: "Don't girls like the blond-blue-eyed thing? Isn't that why when Matt Ishida and his band play, panties fly off?"
She simpered.
"Don't forget your boxers."
"Ha, ha." He nudged her foot with the toe of his shoe. It was a denial, but he was blushing.
"Anyway," Kari picked up. "Don't you think it's a little presumptuous? Vain? Self-indulgent?"
Davis wrinkled his nose, and Kari didn't know if it was because she had asked too many questions in a row to tackle thoughtfully or because she had strayed from using Davis's simple, demotic vernacular. Turned out, it was neither.
"Why do you automatically think when a guy compliments you it's to make himself feel better?"
Her mind reeled to a full stop, and her pondering quieted so instantaneously she thought she could hear the wind blowing in one ear and out the other, as if her brain had vaporized to breath. Her posture straightened by degrees as her eyes regained focus, seeking him among the broad shafts of sun and the moving shadows of the trees.
"I... don't know," she murmured. Her brow wrinkled the instant the words left her lips. She could feel heat rising in her face, boiling from somewhere deep within—from the heart or lungs, maybe—and bubbling up to the paper-thin skin of her cheeks.
"Because when I told you I liked you," he went on, "it wasn't to give myself a pat on the back. I was terrified."
Only because of Tai, she thought. She began to fidget, massaging the knuckles in each of her fingers, rubbing the toes of her sneakers into the sidewalk below their feet, wondering why the topic bothered her when she didn't even have a precise answer. All she could ascertain was that something about his observation rang off as completely, utterly, and indisputably wrong. She only lacked the knowledge and experience to classify it.
"That's not to say other guys don't think that way," she countered, settling for an approximation, even the beginning of one. "You haven't met him."
"Excuse me," he parried. "Neither have you."
Her lips pinched as she looked away, annoyed by the truth and her inability to debate it. She glowered at ground. A line of ants crawled across the concrete expanse, finding their way forward even around the curves and disturbances of their shoes.
"You're no better than Yolei," she mumbled.
"Uh, I am way better than Yolei," Davis retorted. "First off, she snores. I don't."
"Davis."
"What?"
She opened her mouth, intending to say something, but all that came out was a long, loutish:
"Ughhh."
Her hands traveled to her temples, and she began to knead tiny circles into the bones. Davis clapped her gently on the back, shaking her lightly.
"Hey," he said, attempting comfort. "Be frustrated less loudly. Any sound of upset you make is like a siren to Tai, and then I'll blink and he'll be here punching me in the throat."
Kari closed her lips, but her glare didn't lift nor lessen. It intensified.
Davis, blithely—perhaps fatally so—stood and offered her a hand up off the bench.
"Ice cream," he proposed. "Let's get you some ice cream."
xXx
Catherine stared at TK with murderous intent. She leaned back in her chair, arms folded, legs crossed, and heeled foot swinging so angrily under her desk the toe of her stiletto pounded against the front panel.
"Are you… crazy?" she asked, voice at a whisper, as if she were asking if he had farted in public.
"Uh… not—no—" TK fumbled, finding himself, at the last second, doubting. "I don't think so?" In a flash of inspiration, he smiled. "But let's not rule out the possibility."
It was a joke. She didn't laugh.
"TK," she began, sliding her folded arms over the desktop. "It's not going to work." She grimaced, lips pouting. TK caught himself mirroring her frown, but not for the same reasons. For all her efforts to look pained, there was a glitter in her eyes. "I'm sorry," she resumed. "But I'll be taking that apology now."
As a firm acolyte of the power of written language to transform, inspire, and educate, TK was a rare swearer. Yet, at that moment, curses swooped in, exploding in his skull like firecrackers.
What! The! F*#%!
The flood of profanity clashed, the curtness and stabbing of their sounds against one another filling his head with noise. He should have said something, but all he could do was gasp—shriek, more like.
"You're not even considering it?"
Catherine's icy eyes fastened on him. Their glare heightened under the fluorescence of the newsroom's overheads and sent a terror powerful enough to zigzag down his spine and suture his tailbone to his chair.
"Honestly." She put her swinging foot down, assuming her most authoritative stance. Like a mountain rising from a crack in the earth, she stood, fingertips spreading wide atop her desk, upper body leering. In contrast, he felt himself edging back, flattening, like a worm about to be crushed by a shoe. Or, in this case, speared by the knifepoint heel of her stiletto. "How creepy are you willing to reveal yourself? This is stalkerish behavior."
"Pardon me," he rejoined, "but if I were a stalker, I'd be stalking her right now." Arguing somehow reenergized him, and he righted his posture, even going so far as to point a finger at her. "My method is opportunistic—for myself, yes, but also for you. You've been relying on some pretty flaky and pretty crap freelance photographers since you started. You've told me this, and I'm basically handing you a permanent photographer on a silver platter!"
Catherine crossed her arms and rounded her desk until she stood directly in front of him. Her lips worked to shape a reply, puckering as if to kiss, teeth chewing her gums behind the rosy tint of her cheeks. Even whilst looking constipated, she was attractive, hailing from the same planet of beautiful people as his older brother.
"With ulterior motives," she countered, at length.
TK shrugged. Her assessment was not inaccurate.
"Kat," he began, sighing. He pulled off his knit beanie and scrubbed a hand through the flattened hair. "Do you realize that I have lit a flame of interest among the Canto's readers? Perhaps even gained you a few, or several, new subscribers?"
To support his claim, he pointed at a pile of papers on her desk, the printouts of all the emails she had received regarding his article. "Exhibit A," he wanted to declare, like a lawyer caught in the throes of his supporting arguments. He hadn't perused all the emails in their entirety, but from the few he read, the reactions were generally—and enthusiastically—positive. "These people want to know how the story will continue," he resumed, "how it will end. I need to keep this fire going, and I can't write or continue my serial without her participation in it. She needs to be aware. I'm not a complete asshole."
Her expression hadn't shifted. She still looked like she was seconds away from lunging at him, bitten by the fangs of rage, but fighting its infection.
"No," she agreed, blandly. "Just a fraction of one." She clucked her tongue and eased her hip over the edge of her desk and onto the flat, wooden surface. The infinitesimal movement was all her tight pencil skirt would allow. With knitted eyebrows, she studied him, eyes narrowing in such a way that reminded him of how a cobra targeted its prey before it spit. "Do you honestly think once you've explained everything to her that she'll play along?" she questioned. "What sordid male fantasy are you living?"
He stared at her, mouth hanging, using every second of his shock to keep himself from smacking the heel of his palm onto his forehead.
"What are you even talking about?" he asked. "It's not like I'm tricking her or anything."
Catherine thrust her hands up in the air. With blinding quickness she retreated back to her seat behind her desk, crying: "This entire proposal is sheer, ludicrous, insulting artifice! Oh, my God. You are wrong and misguided on so many levels. It is unbelievable!"
TK scratched his head, watching her. Against his better judgment, the only word to come up to describe the situation—and her—was "hysteria."
"Um…" He leaned forward, tapping fingers on her desk as she, in her fury, reorganized her paper piles loudly, dramatically, and with much flapping and huffing. "Did you hear the part where you gain a promising new talent?" he probed. "You weren't at her show, but I spoke with her, I interviewed her, I saw what she's capable of doing. She's smart and creative and knowledgeable, and you have every opportunity, if you follow my proposal, to influence her greatness. Don't you want a legacy?"
With a sigh, Catherine slapped the pages of an article on her desktop. Her glare had lessened somewhat, enough to make him believe he'd live to walk through the newsroom doors.
"I'd be for it, truly," she replied, "if you didn't have another agenda. Your best argument is your guise, and I will not support such malignant contrivance."
She sat, which TK took as a sign that she was calming. He dared to keep pressing his pitch.
"You forget that she has every option to deny the opportunity. All of my proposed contrivances can be for nothing, but… I want to take that risk. You literally have nothing to lose, Kat. Only I do. If she agrees, you get a photographer. If she doesn't, I write your apology."
He held her stare in the long seconds that followed as she considered him, fingers steepling over her chest. The methodic tapping of her shoe against the desk panel returned, counting time like an aggressive metronome.
"Well," she said, "that was… uncalled for."
He summoned a smile.
"As you said. I'm just a fraction of an asshole."
She raised her eyebrows, the corner of her red mouth curving into a smirk.
"All right, TK. Fine." The smirk broadened to an earnest smile, her eyes even shrinking under the happy contortion of facial muscles. Still, he couldn't express satisfaction or announce victory just yet. He lived—and wrote—for exactness. "I will reach out to her, but if she declines the offer, you will give me that apology."
"Fair." He rose from his seat, extending his hand to her, sealing their accord. As she stood to shake it, he added, "And even if you deliberately do a shoddy job making the offer to her, you'll change your mind once you get her talking about her art. I guarantee it."
Catherine continued in her good manner, all smiles, though TK suddenly felt a pang of pressure on the bones of his hand, her grip transforming into a clamp, a tourniquet that cut off circulation to his fingers. In a reflex, he jerked his arm back, but to no avail. She had him.
"TK," she said sweetly, nearly singing his name. She pulled, and he bucked forward, knees knocking against the front of her desk. "Do not ever make the mistake of thinking you know what I will and will not do. Is that clear?"
He smiled uneasily, feeling his hairline moisten, the pulse in his neck quicken.
"Um… Yeah. Absolutely."
"Good." She released her hold on him and patted him lightly on the chest. "Now, leave. I have a job offer to make."
xXx
A/N: So, hmm… wonder how Kari will take to this proposal of TK's? Poorly, I hope. Hahaha. But that means there's room for development. ;)
Anywho, this story is my project for NaNoWriMo, so if everything goes well, there may be more updates in December onward! Hopefully with more action! (And less, uh… conniving? TK has a lot to learn, doesn't he?)
I'd love to see what you guys think! Please review if you can! :) Until next time!